


An Unusual Catch

by notquiteaphoenix



Series: Monsters of Mars [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Nonbinary Character, Pre-Relationship, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaphoenix/pseuds/notquiteaphoenix
Summary: Peter takes the low-stakes job for the amusement of stealing from a detective. (And such adelightfuldetective!)Perhaps he should have asked his employer for more details about his target.Not that he even knew what questions toask.





	An Unusual Catch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelyhills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyhills/gifts).



As far as targets go, Detective Juno Steel is quite lovely. Even his prickly demeanor is rather...tempting.

Peter wishes he had chosen a closer, more hands on approach for this heist. A week of surveillance revealed a quick wit and an occupational competency that gave reason for the Detective Steel’s separation from the HCPD, along with small moments outside of cases Peter would love to tease out, like the blissful smile he saw through the scope yesterday morning right after the detective appeared to have taken a two hour long bath.

Peter _knows_ he can cause that sort of smile—has done so to many a gent and lady and variations thereof of —and bask in the warmth of that expression.

Yet he isn’t about to pass up such an easy opening when Detective Steel is called on for consultation at the Iris Building. (A lady with a beautiful smile or not, Mag would ridicule complicating a job with such excess.)

Security checkpoints make for such wonderful distractions.

Meandering through the first floor lobby with a bag covered in patches with the names of places like Titan and Venus, Peter plays the part of an overly fascinated tourist.

Detective Steel’s entrance is impossible to miss; with his trenchcoat and hat, he looks more out of place in the throng of tourists than the average Martian citizen. He’s fascinating to watch; when on a case, the detective carries himself with a surety of movement but without that laser-focus, his movements are stilted as if he was used to a lighter gravity world despite clear records of having _never_ left Mars, let alone to one of the Outer Rim planets with a lower grav than the red planet. Legally, at least.

Peter makes his way towards the funnel of people lining up for the security scanners, carefully keeping just ahead of Detective Steel. With a deft hand, he slips a small package into a real tourist’s bag.

Turning to call out but not stopping, Peter says in a strong Jovian accent, “I believe you dropped something!”

The tourist—likely a true Jovian or a fan of their fashion from the mint green lightning bolt print of their billowy pants; a distinct retro look all the rage—pauses to look down just long enough for Detective Steel to pass him.

The line forms perfectly: Peter, the detective grumbling about roadblocking tourists, and the unsuspecting Jovian with Peter’s little surprise.

Peter removes his metallic items with the speed and disinterested air of a well-traveled tourist, placing his ear cuffs with his bag in the bin and pushing the bin through the scanner before passing the chemo-metal detection units.

As he ‘waits’ for his belongings to pass computer inspection, Peter watches as Detective Steel surrenders each item: a laser, his license for concealed carry, three knives just barely regulation length, handcuffs, an outdated comm unit, his belt, a barely legal plasma cutter, a lock pick set (Peter can’t resist a smile at that one), and a packed keyring with...a crab-shaped bottle opener keychain.

That’s...different.

Delightfully so.

Then, finally, Detective Steel reaches down—such a pity that trenchcoat leaves everything underneath to the imagination—and takes off the target of Peter’s job.

A pair of anklets, one thick metal band for each leg. Detective Steel snaps each off and sets them down in the bin with much more care than the rest of his belongings.

Peter’s bin appears from the scanner and he puts a show of carefully putting his ear cuffs back on, keeping an eye on the detective’s bin as it slips through the machine. He waits for the next unfortunate traveler’s bin to enter the machine before grabbing his own bag.

The machine needs just seconds to detect the item Peter planted.

Peter flinches with everyone else as the alarms go off.

There are shouts and immediate accusations as the poor dupe is tackled to the ground, catching the esteemed Detective Steel’s full attention.

It’s merely powdered sugar not actual nuifentanyl like Peter’s helpful label and corresponding RFID tag suggests but no one would dare open that package to check the contents without the proper safety equipment. Respiratory arrest from hyped up opioids is such a terribly quick way to die.

The illusion of such a threat is perfect for a distraction.

While all eyes are away from him, Peter carefully slips the anklets from the top of Steel’s bin to his own bag and fishes out the replicas. The replicas are on the pile not a moment too soon before the detective turns back.

Peter disappears in the throng of people being ushered away from the supposed drug bust, looking back once to see Detective Steel arguing with the security guards to collect his belongings before being shoved with the rest of the crowd.

No way to treat a lady but Peter supposes the guards get their comeuppance when they have to deal with increased security protocols over a package of sugar.

 

* * *

 

 

The anklets are fancy things. Certainly not a mostly gold alloy, too light to have more than a thin plating of gold over. Perhaps a base of nickel or, considering the owner, _steel_. Spaced between etched designs in the metal, peculiar purple stones are set in the band. The strange texture doesn’t stick out as any valuable gemstone Peter is familiar with. He almost dismisses the anklets for low quality, early twenty-eighth century knockoffs.  

Except…

The etched designs are clearly done with a hand tool, intricate patterns carved with the utmost care and such perfect imperfections make them distinct to the cheap threedee printer design like the fakes he left behind with the detective.

And no one pays two mil creds for costume jewelry. Especially not the Kanagawas who for all their titillating starlet antics are more bloodthirsty than starving sharks when money is on the table.

Well, no one pays that much when they _know_ they are buying a fake.

Peter trails a finger along the designs. He still hasn’t figured out how to unclasp them, though he does not recall Detective Steel doing anything in particular to take them off; merely pulling on the edges before the bands snapped open. And while the detective could conceivably have a stronger grip strength, Peter cannot even find where on the bands the hinge and opening are.

He does have three days left until the Kanagawa family expects the anklets but the very thought of spending that time struggling with such a seemingly simple clasp is... degrading. He should be enjoying the lap of luxury of the floating mansion Mag procured for him, enjoying the amenities and going through rooms and safes to decide what the vacationing Adewuya sisters won’t miss when they return home.

A door chime rings faintly through the hallway—downstairs, the kitchen entrance perhaps.

The alarms _should_ have gone off; the Adewuya sisters have a decent, if boring security system and the pair of sisters themselves are in transit to Venus. Perhaps Peter isn’t the only one who figured that out.

Peter opens the safe behind a painting and places the jewelry inside along with the family’s own collection of baubles.

He returns the painting to cover the safe again. The painting depicts the beautiful cityscape of Old Lagos in the twenty-fourth century. Pity it’s merely a very good reproduction of the sloppy forgery sitting in the Vesuvian Planetary Museum.

His knives are all within easy reach, as well as a garrote wire in his pocket and a pistol between the table stand and the chaise lounge Peter makes himself comfortable on.

The door slides open and—

 _Well_.

Peter smiles.

After days of stalking, there is no mistaking his guest even if this visit is quite the surprise. Detective Steel enters the room with his coat flaring out behind him in a dramatic fashion that Peter appreciates. He still wears his signature hat and sour expression, gun drawn at his side.

Steel freezes when he sees Peter.

“I wasn’t expecting any visitor,” Peter says, Martian accent in place.  “But, _my word_ , are you a delightful sight.”

Though Peter much prefers those fleeting moments when Steel is _not_ scowling but what can he do?

And truly, the detective is fiercely beautiful like this, much like his namesake.

 _Juno_.

A goddess indeed.

“Can’t say the same, buddy. I was expecting my day to be over by now.”

The detective isn’t aiming at him—not yet—but from everything Peter has read up on the detective, he would rather not tempt one of his usual distractions.

Juno Steel does not miss. The detective’s soft-hearted tendency towards the stun setting or no, Peter prefers plans that do _not_ include setting himself up as a target for laser fire.

Peter needs to get that gun out of the Detective’s reach as soon as possible.

“I don’t suppose I could help improve your night?” Peter tilts his head.

“Right now, I want to know who you are and why you are messing with me,” The Detective says. “That’s a clever thing you did with using Chiron Therapeutics label, but no one pawns off something with that street value just to get into the Iris Building.”

The detective certainly is no slouch.

Peter sits up straight and crosses his arms as if bothered by the accusation. He is going to enjoy this. “I have no clue what you are talking about.”

“You’re good at keeping your face off the cameras too. Got a name?”

Oh, _a name_.

Peter is tempted to say any number of ones he has used, maybe one with a history to puzzle the detective. Another time, though. For now, the detective can have the alias Mag designed to fool the Adewuyas.

“I am Rory Splinter and I’m housesitting for the ladies of the house.” Peter nearly doesn’t have to lie about that last part; the younger Adewuya _did_ hire Splinter. He lays plans for these excursions with layers of contingencies; he has a certain professional pride in never having been caught—well, never caught long enough to _count_. Perhaps he needs to take more care; Peter had thought the security system in the house would have given him plenty of time to make his escape in this type of situation before anyone could surprise him. He gives the detective a glance over, the visit may be unexpected but he can certainly have some fun with this.  “The question is, who are _you_? I would like to give a name to the HCPD.”

The detective—no, _Juno_ , surely at this point Peter deserves the lady’s name—snorts. “Them. _Sure_.”

Peter wonders if that response is directed towards Juno’s personal history with the police department or the more typical local response to the HCPD.

Though really, the Adewuya sisters are certainly rich enough to have the police actually put some effort into their jobs. Peter has had enough dealings with Mars to be familiar with how the HCPD prefers a generous, upfront gift before extending a decent amount of professional concern.

Peter can’t help but be curious over the contents of several redacted police files concerning his current guest’s time on the force. The infamous Detective Juno Steel has the reputation of working for both people with deep pockets as well as the type the HCPD wouldn’t bother with; what kind of officer was Juno himself?

Juno steps across the room, towering over Peter in a way he only can with people sitting or small children. “I thought Uzoma Adewuya had more sense than to hire a thief. But I suppose she human enough makes mistakes.”

Peter doesn’t so much as blink with his surprise. He has put in a decent amount of effort to avoid meeting the eldest sister. The youngest Adewuya sister, Kayin, is the one who actually hired ‘Rory Splinter’. Mag speaks quite highly of Uzoma, using her wrath as a cautionary tale when Peter was young.

He wasn’t aware that Juno _knows_ the Adewuya sisters personally. Juno has plenty of rich clients but on the actively shady side—the Kanagawas are shared clientele between Peter and Juno, after all—rather than those who had the sense to retire out of the racketeering game decades ago like the Adewuyas. Peter wonders what the Adewuyas needed from a detective like Steel.

“You dare accuse me of being a thief?” Peter asks with more smile than heat. Rory Splinter, personal assistant to the rich, should be full of outrage but Peter finds maintaining the charade difficult when Juno is leaning over him. Peter can imagine a very different scenario.

Juno grabs Peter’s shirt with his free hand and Peter almost stabs him on reflex. His fingers are around the blade handle in his pocket and it would be _easy_.

But far from what he wants or has been hired to do.

The Kanagawa contract is quite specific about wanting the detective alive and Peter has no interest in facing the creative penalties listed in his contract. Peter doesn’t mind that clause terribly. Killing the detective would be such a shame.

Juno holsters his gun—Peter has to resist a smirk—to brace his hand against the back of the lounge. “You took my charms with fakes. The moment I knew they were wrong when I touched them. And the Iris’s cameras barely caught the switch. You’re not that smooth, buddy.”

Peter feels his eye twitch.

“Do you have any proof that was _me_?” Peter allows a hint of true annoyance to slip in his tone; perhaps he underestimated the detective but those replicas are supposed to be identical according to Cecil Kanagawa.

“You may have hid your face but your smell...” Juno looks away. Embarrassed, perhaps.

Oh.

That’s rather _adorable_. And the perfect moment to take Juno’s gun from the holster, sliding it under the lounge’s many pillows without a sound.

“My cologne? I wasn’t aware bloodhounds came in such lovely,” Peter says, attracting Juno’s gaze again and he makes an obvious show of looking Juno up and down. “Shapes.”

“I don’t have time for this.” His eyes do look tired and Peter supposes being on that side of a successful theft is stressful. He wouldn't claim to know. “I would _love_ to know why bother taking my charms but today, I want them back more than I care about why someone wants to screw me over with a fake pair.”

Peter considers that possibility. The jewelry don’t appear to be worth-while in the terms of creds but this isn’t likely a trap for Peter himself; he has yet to directly steal from the Kanagawas, and on record Juno doesn't appear to be the murdering type. Still, this job is turning stranger with each passing moment. “Perhaps if you would describe what you are looking for, I could help you.”

Juno makes a sound that is nearly a growl and his hand on the couch goes to his belt again. Whether Juno intends to play _bad cop_ with his handcuffs—and wouldn’t _that_ be amusing—he freezes when he notices the bulk of his gun missing.

Peter grins, showing all of his teeth.

Juno blinks and his hand loosens on Peter’s shirt for a moment and—

Peter strikes, grabbing the detective’s wrist and gets ready to twist.

Then Juno curses—”Dammit! Not now!”—and Peter hears a tearing sound before Juno collapses heavily him, weight dragging both of them down off the lounge and onto the floor.

At first, Peter is distracted enough by the detective practically laying on top of him that he can’t put his finger on what changes.

He grabs for the Juno’s waist to steady himself and—

The pebbled texture under his fingertips is _not_ what he imagined.

The weight shifts in a rolling motion and the unnatural sensation forces Peter to look down.

Is that—

No.

Peter feels his jaw drop and for a moment is annoyed by his own expression but decides that reaction is entirely appropriate because below the waistband of what used to be pants and where Juno’s legs should be is a _tail_. A long purple tail—surely as long as Peter is tall—tapering off into a feathery fin.

“What, no completely fake comeback now?” Juno snaps, hands still fisted in Peter’s shirt. He flicks his tail fin like an angry cat, streaks of gold catching in the light.

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Goddammit, what did you think you were stealing?”

Peter is fairly sure he is still missing something important because _anklets_ still seems like the right answer.

And yet the look in Juno’s dark eyes…

The skin under his hands is cool to the touch. Peter moves his hands down to the scales that creep up along Juno’s waist. Should those be so dry?

Juno swats at him weakly. “That’s forward. Not before a date.”

Such an opening, if only the detective didn’t sound so dazed.

And _not_ in the good way.

“Detective, are you okay?”

Peter supposes he does deserve some of the heat from that glare.

“Do I _look_ okay?” The tailfin slams against the floor violently. “I need my charms, dammit.”

Peter pauses. Nothing on those anklets gives reason to believe they are medically necessary somehow but Peter doesn’t even know how to open them.

Or that mermaids are apparently a thing that exists.

Or why Cecil Kanagawa wants him to steal jewelry from a mermaid.

The Kanagawas would be the sort to both hire a thief to take a medical device _a_ _nd_ place a stipulation in the contract _not_ to kill the target.

He wouldn’t be surprised the Kanagawas could be attempting to screw him over if he knew _why_ . This setup lacks the cameras and audience to catch the drama the Kanagawas—and especially _the Cecil Kanagawa_ who arranged to actually be kidnapped by mobsters on live TV—crave.

Peter has been on the lookout for poison, cameras, and excess _drama_ when he took this job.

But…

 _Mermaids_.

How could he expect that?

Peter trails his eyes along the tail. Those purple scales are iridescent, nearly gold on the edges like the strands in the fins. The color looks amazing against Juno’s dark skin.

He’s certainly heard stories of mermaids and now can understand how the very idea of them have followed travelers from sailors to spacefarers across millennia.  In the vid libraries he’s exhausted in his travels between worlds, Peter has seen a few depictions of mermaids. From the early twenty-second century alone there is a whole genre of movies dedicated to the fanciful imagining of alien mermaids on fluid planetary bodies like Titan, a narcissistic combination of familiar human qualities and ancient Earth myths projected on a barely explored liquid world.

Liquid.

Surely, with how close Juno appears to Earth legends, he is a water-based being rather than methane.

“Should you be out of water like this?”

“I’m breathing just fine, aren’t I?” Juno bites out and then wheezes.

He’s really not.

Shallow, rapid breaths could mean so many problems...in humans. What did it mean in mermaids?

“I don’t suppose I could take you to the hospital like this.” Peter knew of less official clinics he could visit if needed, though he is unsure whether money enough is to convince a backstreet doctor June is merely a fantastic gene splice.

If not charm or creds, a blade can always buy silence.

“Fins aren’t even as weird as what shows up on a Friday night, trust me.” Juno snorts. “But hey, I can save the trouble of dragging me there if you would give me my goddamn charms back.”

“I don’t have them with me.” Peter hears himself say, before he allows the thought of relinquishing what he rightfully stole to cross his mind.

Juno squints at him. “They should be near, I can still feel…”

Interesting. It would have been nice to know that his target can apparently sense the item he stole even when it is placed in a lead-lined safe.

And the whole _mermaid_ thing.  

Peter tries to pull Juno to up with him but Juno only budges as far as to sit up in the equivalent of a kneeling position with the tail. His tail weighs quite a bit.

“I need you to help me with this, Detective. I am out of my depth.” A small part of him, usually dedicated to responding to Mag twitches at the pun. “Would it be correct for me to assume that water will help?”

“Sure, a glass of water will totally fix this,” Juno gestures towards his tail. “Not like I haven’t told you _what_ I need.”

“I am terribly sorry but I do have a job to complete. You are certainly welcome to stay while we figure out how to deal with this...imposition. I believe there is a tub down the hall.”

Juno’s cheeks darken to a beautiful shade. “I am not staying in your bathtub!”

“Oh don’t worry, Detective. It’s not _my_ bathtub.”

“That’s not—no, you’re missing the issue, it’s…”

Whatever point the detective intended to clarify is lost when he faints and all his weight falls on Peter. Again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is long overdue.
> 
> I have _plans_ for this series. ~~Such as I tried to make it obvious Mag is alive in this AU. For reasons.~~


End file.
